Look Upon Jesus

When I was about 5 years old, my father told me that if I were very, very good, I would get to see Jesus, or perhaps an angel. I remember asking him how he knew, and he told me the Bible said so. I asked him if he had ever seen an angel, and he said, no, but when he was a boy, he had heard of some people who had seen one.

I'm not sure exactly why that moment has stayed with me so long - I didn't exactly take my father's admonition to heart. And I, too, have never seen an angel, at least not one I recognized.

But somehow, I know they're there. Too many times, I have seen things that simply defy explanation. A man, hopelessly late for a plane to take him to a dying relative's bedside, arrives to find the plane still at the gate with no obvious reason for the delay. A father calls off a trip for his young daughter, about to leave on vacation with her grandparents to visit her great-grandmother, because he has a peculiar feeling. When the grandparents arrive, they find the great-grandmother looking peaceful in her favorite chair, having passed away earlier that day.

About this time last year, my father-in-law, Stanley Todd, sensed that his eight-year fight with prostate cancer had taken a new turn. A medical exam proved him right. The doctors were worried because his kidneys weren't functioning well, and the disease appeared to have spread. He consulted with an oncologist and decided on an aggressive course of treatment as soon as his kidney function improved. Doctors later implanted nephrostomy tubes in both kidneys, leaving him with two drainage bags at his side. Within weeks, however, further tests indicated that the cancer had spread aggressively; cancer treatments were not an option.

Many people would decide there was no hope and thus no reason to go on. But after a few days of reflection, Stanley seemed resolved to use whatever time he had remaining to help his family and friends through the tough final days. As his friend Hank Everman later eulogized: "The word passive was alien to him. He was always an activist." That was true even as he lay dying.

Stanley was blessed with a steady stream of visitors during the last several months of his life. And these visitors were in for a surprise. His mind was so clear and his conversation so normal and engaging, it was easy to forget this beloved life force was so desperately ill. Instead of comforting him, these friends left the nursing home finding it was they who were the comforted. Stanley had found new meaning in his life, even when his chances for survival were zero and his quality of life was so poor. That meaning, and his tremendous faith, allowed Stanley not to focus on his own suffering. He showed us all that each day really is a gift from God.

On what turned out to be Stanley's last night, after the first day in which he was never fully awake and responsive, my wife Becky and I received a call shortly after 1 a.m., letting us know that his system seemed to be shutting down. When we arrived at his room, the nurses told us they could find only a faint pulse and no blood pressure. After we sat down and told him we were there - and let him know Becky's brother was on the way - Stanley's condition changed dramatically. His breathing grew more robust, and the nurses soon found a pulse and a normal blood pressure.

Becky's brother arrived, and Stanley's condition changed again. His breathing grew less labored but more steady. It was almost a normal rhythm. Then, Stanley opened his eyes. He didn't say anything, but he fixed his eyes on a spot straight ahead, on the ceiling, over the foot of his bed. There was almost a quizzical look in his eyes, then an intense stare. He kept looking at that spot, unblinking, for several minutes before he closed his eyes again. Within a few minutes, he was gone.

Becky, her brother and I have not talked much about that instant when Stanley saw Jesus. But we knew He was there. Today, on this Easter, we will celebrate with joy the day of our Lord's resurrection and the promise of eternal life. And we will know He is there.

— Michael York

Courtesy of The Church of the Good Shepherd United Methodist